


A Fiery Wish

by Muze



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Jeyne is rescued by the bwb on her way to winterfell, Jeyne-centric, Weddings, a weekend in the stormlands, as good as it can get at least, beric dondarrion needs an heir, jeyne deserves some good stuff, major character death isn't a spoiler since it's beric, non-explicit sex scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muze/pseuds/Muze
Summary: Just like all girls with big dreams, Jeyne Poole had been told to be careful what she wished for.Yet, having been raised on the same steady diet of fairy tales and courtly lessons as Sansa Stark, even though Jeyne was only a steward’s daughter, she couldn’t help but dream about a romantic future with a dashing lord.But now, standing in front of a ditchfire some distance removed from a gnarled old Weirwood tree, Jeyne belatedly understood the lesson they had tried to instil upon her.‘Now comes Jeyne of House Poole, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth.’‘Who comes forth to claim this woman?’ the red priest in the faded red robes asked.‘I do, Lord Beric of House Dondarrion.’ She could see him coming to stand next to her from her peripheral vision. In the dark he was even more of a ghost, his whole body swallowed by the faded and torn black cloak with stars.
Relationships: Beric Dondarrion/Jeyne Poole
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	A Fiery Wish

Just like all girls with big dreams, Jeyne Poole had been told to be careful what she wished for.

Yet, having been raised on the same steady diet of fairy tales and courtly lessons as Sansa Stark, even though Jeyne was only a steward’s daughter, she couldn’t help but dream about a romantic future with a dashing lord.

But now, standing in front of a ditchfire some distance removed from a gnarled old Weirwood tree, Jeyne belatedly understood the lesson they had tried to instil upon her.

‘Now comes Jeyne of House Poole, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth.’

There was no one to give her away. But it was preferable to being given away by one of the guards Lord Baelish had sent with her, their deaths were the best wedding gift she could have hoped for in this bleak new world.

Poor papa, she mourned, I had always expected you to give me away and have a first dance with me on my wedding day. She comforted herself with the knowledge that her mama and papa would not want to witness this moment anyway.

‘Who comes forth to claim this woman?’ the red priest in the faded red robes asked.

‘I do, Lord Beric of House Dondarrion.’ She could see him coming to stand next to her from her peripheral vision. In the dark he was even more of a ghost, his whole body swallowed by the faded and torn black cloak with stars. The stars gleamed ever so slightly in the light of the fire.

Once upon a time, nothing would have delighted her more than to marry him. She’d professed her fiery desire to Sansa.

But that had been in summer, it was autumn now.

**x.X.x**

Life was like the songs, Jeyne thought.

For a lovely couple of months, she’d been nothing short of happy. True, she was sad to miss Robb’s lovely face and gorgeous curls gleaming a dark red in the sunlight. But then in King’s Landing she’d gotten proper replacement in the form of Beric Dondarrion. Taller and older than Robb, and with hair an even brighter shade of red. In the sunlight, it reminded her of a flaming fire, and her girlish passions were quickly shifted towards the Lord of Blackhaven.

Now there was a real man awakening all kinds of female feelings within her.

‘Oh Jeyne he is handsome for sure, but I heard he is betrothed to Lady Dayne since a couple of years. Is there no unattached squire you would consider, or someone who’s part of an entourage?’ Sansa had asked her with all hesitancy and gentleness becoming of sweet friend. Jeyne had known the true meaning of her words though.

Yes, Beric Dondarrion was betrothed to another, but Sansa meant that Jeyne had set her sights too high. She didn’t mind though, she was young and in an exciting capitol she’d never even dreamed of visiting, she was fine with just dreaming about him.

The pink bubble of childhood had shattered with the prick of a needle, or rather a sword, a sword to Lord Eddard’s neck and another one in her father’s belly.

Life was not like a song, in the songs, the heroes win.

She’d paid dearly for those summer months and her own naivety with the blood of her father and her own dignity as Lord Baelish sent her to a brothel once all northernmen had been slaughtered. She saw things she never had expected to see. And did things she never wanted to do. Her cheeks had been stained with tears as she did them, but she had done them, until she did them well enough that Lord Baelish decided her education was complete. Her education was complete, but she felt dirty.

She didn’t feel like one of the princesses in the songs anymore. They had been good and pure and sweet. She was ruined, wary and weary.

He assigned her two men to return her to Winterfell. Sometimes she played the part of their sister, sometimes one’s wife, and sometimes their child. She didn’t look forward to returning home, news travelled fast on the Kingsroad. She’d heard about Robb and Catelyn activities in the Riverlands, Arya’s disappearance in Kings Landing and the deaths of the youngest Starks. They’d been no more than small boys when she left, she’d cursed Theon when she first heard about it. Sansa had never trusted them since Catelyn had never trusted him, and she in turn had never trusted the youth either.

She’d spent days thinking of ways to kill him, she’d seen enough death to know a couple of ways. She couldn’t even bemoan the loss of her sweetness and innocence, she’d lost it all so rapidly, and instead had come hate, fear and resignation. What home would she return to? There was none, she reasoned. She doubted Lord Baelish was bringing her home for her own sake, she hadn’t a lot of experience or knowledge, but she knew this much. There was only one reason why she’d been taught the things she was in a brothel before being sent to Lord Bolton. Baelish had a plan for her, and it didn’t include growing older until the war was over and her kin found a match for her.

Jeyne liked to believe she was no fool, she didn’t deny reality, but on the other hand there was no use to dwell on it, so oftentimes while on the road, she retreated to the realm of dreams, the only place where her life wasn’t miserable. In those dreams she dreamt of being saved on her way to the North by Lord Beric Dondarrion. She’d heard of his attacks on foraging parties in the woods. While on the road, she’d also heard of his deaths. She’d heard he’d been impaled by the Mountain, smashed with a mace, hanged by Ser Lorch, stabbed in the face by the Mountain and killed by Vargo Hoat. Each couple of weeks brought a new story of his death. She reasoned that the stories of his deaths had to be false, otherwise how could someone else claim to have killed him? On the other hand, reports were known to conflict, perhaps there’d been a battle in the woods somewhere, and everyone wanted to take credit for killing the hero who’d so bravely ended so many foraging parties. It didn’t matter to her, in her daydreams she created happy endings for the both of them.

So, on her trip to an uncertain destiny, expecting nothing but misery, she’d been shocked when their group was halted halfway through the woods by a band of criminals. They had to be criminals, she reasoned, they looked poor and dirty. The second they stopped, weapons were drawn by all. Her party was hopelessly outnumbered.

This was her death, she reasoned, she couldn’t even be very surprised or emotional about it.

That had been until a man slowly walked onto the middle of the road, previously hidden in shadows.

She recognized him immediately, even though he looked nothing like she remembered, time had removed every blemish and imperfection he had ever had from her memory, making the present version of him look all the more jarring.

His hair had grown to his shoulders, and the clothes which had without a doubt once looked magnificent were now worn through and stained with blood and dirt. He still wore his black shield and breastplate, though both carried holes.

How could they have holes of that size when he was standing there? Nothing could have pierced them without injuring him. He must have grown a lot better at fighting, if he managed to be attacked in such ways and walk away alive.

He had never been a broad man by any means, but was now a scarecrow. He must have been hungry often, she thought as he came to a standstill.

‘Have no fear, good people, we shall not harm you, we only seek money for our cause. Surely, you have some to spare. I swear it will go to food for the poor smallfolk, and the orphans we are housing’, he announced good-naturedly.

There was no recognition in his eye. The other was covered by dirty cloth. She remembered a story of how the Mountain had pierced it.

So that had been true, she noted. Upon consideration, did not the hole in his breastplate resemble the damage a lance would have made? He had fought the Mountain, but he’d survived. Jeyne remembered how he’d been unhorsed twice at the Tourney. A man who was unhorsed that easily would be knocked out by the Mountain in a minute.

He must have learned a lot while on the road, she mused. Before he had been but a young untried youth, experience had aged him, but the time had brought him experience and skill if he could now hold himself against the Mountain.

 _He might not remember me, but surely if he still defends the smallfolk and helps orphans, he will help me as well,_ she reasoned.

That minute she decided placing her fate in his hands was preferable to continuing her way to Winterfell. Perhaps she risked dying, but there were no guarantees awaiting her at Winterfell either.

‘Lord Beric’, she brought out. ‘I am pleased to see you alive, my lord.’

Confusion clouded his face, and she could feel her guards tensing. She had chosen wrong, but she could not go back now. She had chosen her fate.

‘Who speaks?’ asked a low voice before a man joined Lord Beric. He was skinnier than she remembered, and now had a thick grey beard, but he too wore some clothes she remembered.

‘Ser Thoros’, she greeted.

‘I remember your face,’ he admitted, a shine coming into his eyes, ‘but I cannot recall where I met you’, the red priest answered honestly.

‘My name is Jeyne Poole, I was in Kings Landing together with Lord Stark and his daughters.’

‘And finally on your way home. Kings Landing has turned traitorous, no doubt you will be glad to go home. Although, your entourage looks rather small, were the Northerners not with more?’

The men accompanying her could not hide the absence of Northern banners, and the lack of people could not be explained either. She knew he had already concluded something was up.

‘Actually, Ser, this is all that’s left of us. It is only me, the others, including my father, were killed. Luckily Lord Baelish was so kind as to send me back home with some of his fine men. Since I am their prisoner I cannot decide about giving you money, but perhaps if you ask them, they would not mind giving you some.’

The situation turned quickly. She could feel the press of a blade against her throat. The men closest to the carriage froze.

‘Let us go, or we will kill her’, her guard threatened.

They wouldn’t, she knew, because if they did not deliver her to the Boltons, Lord Baelish would see to it that they were adequately punished.

From between the trees, an arrow rushed past, and she could feel the impact through the blade and arms around her, before the grip of the guard slackened. He dropped dead. The other didn’t even have time to draw his sword before he was pulled from the cart by a tall burly man with a yellow cloak. The sickening wet crunch of an axe followed mere seconds after.

‘Thank you, my Lord, you are too kind, you can have as much of the money as you want’, she quickly said.

‘We help those in need, and we do not take kindly to pawns being played by the ruthless schemers of King’s Landing. However, my lady, this now leaves you without protectors while the roads to the North are treasonous’, the once handsome lord said.

‘There’s nothing for me in the North. I only wish to be safe. I cannot expect you to help me, but I would be forever in your debt if someone could bring me to a house loyal to the Starks. I will manage from there onwards, and I will sent money to you if I can.’

‘We are flattered by your kindness, my lady. If you don’t mind, we could take you to the Crossroads Inn to discuss your options.’

Having little choice, Jeyne nodded, and after the arms and clothes of her guards were distributed amongst what she was now introduced to as the Brotherhood without Banners, she followed them hither and was surprised to see it was the Bellringer Inn where she’d stayed on her way to King’s Landing. Just like they’d told, the inn was the home to many orphans who were being looked after by the innkeeper and his family.

Jeyne and Willow Heddle had grown a lot since she last saw them, and were now quite protective of the children. Despite her future being uncertain, she felt at ease for the first time in months during the two hours she spent there talking to the girls and playing with the small children. But then Thoros and Beric had come to her with an unexpected offer.

‘Here is the thing, my lady, you could do us a great service. Though admittedly it is a lot we ask of you. But we see ourselves forced to ask’, Thoros had announced. What followed was the most incredible conversation of Jeyne’s life.

They explained what they had been doing ever since Lord Stark had sent them on that mission about a year ago. They told her how they had been so preoccupied with their task, they had not thought about the future until recently. It had been decided that if possible, Lord Dondarrion had to marry quickly, to no matter which fertile lady of noble birth would be willing, since he was the only male Dondarrion. He had been promised years ago, but he could not go home to marry, and his present lifestyle did not guarantee he would live long enough to father children and continue his line.

Jeyne understood where the conversation was going, and reasoned that by taking his cloak, she would get the protection of his name, and would have a home in Blackhaven.

He was no longer the young dashing knight she’d dreamt of. Time had not been kind to him, but his hair was still red, his eye still blue, his nose straight, his manner dignified and courtly, she could do so much worse.

But as soon as she agreed, strong spirits were called for, and she was instructed to take two glasses with them before the conversation continued. But no spirits could have prepared her for the story that followed, as the red priest explained how children were by no means a certainty, even though that was the whole intention of the marriage.

And that’s when the last devasting blow came: Lord Beric had been mortally wounded five times, but had been revived by a magical kiss of the red priest each time. They did not know how the magic worked, they only knew he kept on coming back, though each time he seemed to lose a bit more of himself.

No wonder he did not recognize me, Jeyne thought, if he cannot even remember his betrothed or his home. She would marry to the corpse of the man who had filled her dreams. She took the third offered drink, and the fourth, before she concluded that it mattered not. Although no one, not even he himself knew how much of a man he still was, he was still more of a man than most.

They were married in a small local sept, and wedding certificates were signed by Jeyne, Lord Beric, the local septon, Ser Thoros and Edric Dayne who served as witnesses. The certificates were decorated with a wax seal Lord Beric had stamped his signet ring onto. Copies were sent to Winterfell, King’s Landing and Blackhaven, and another copy was kept in the sept. All would know the wedding had Dinner place.

Supper was had in the inn, before the party went out into the woods, where they knew there to be a Weirwood tree to honour Jeyne’s gods. While honouring her religion, the couple would partake in the wedding ceremony of the God of Light, as he had saved Lord Beric many times, it was deemed as necessary, lest they anger him.

**x.X.x**

‘Lord Beric,’ asked Thoros, ‘will you share your fire with Jeyne, and warm her when the night is dark and full of terrors?’

Jeyne looked to him for a second. In the dark, from the side she was standing on, he still looked normal. He had bathed, and his hair looked soft and glowing. The gauntness of his face was shielded by his beard. The expression in his eye was gentle.

‘I swear it’, he promised with a comforting smile aimed at Jeyne. ‘I swear by the red god’s flames, I shall warm her all her days.’

She bit her lip. She doubted the statement. If he carried on like he had before, he would die again soon. How many deaths would it take him to forget her? After how many deaths would there be nothing to bring back?

‘Lady Jeyne, do you swear to share your fire with Beric, and warm him when the night is dark and full of terrors?’

‘Until his blood is boiling’, she promised, her hands nervously clutching her old cloak. She wondered whether she would have to work hard on making his blood boil to prepare him for their union.

Thoros nodded.

‘Very well. Then come to me and be as one.’

Lord Beric took her hand.

‘Are you ready, my lady?’

He turned to her fully, the scarred side of his face now in plain view, all unevenness highlighted by the unflattering light of the flames. She tried to smile, and strengthened her hold on his hand.

There were fates worse than this.

Side by side they leapt over the ditch.

‘Two went into the flames, one emerges. What fire joins, none may put asunder.’

She took his cloak as the brotherhood cheered. She wondered if their cheers were honest, or if they merely encouraged the awkward newlyweds out of tradition.

They returned from the woods, and were given one of the cosiest and warmest rooms on the third level of the inn. A decanter filled with white wine awaited her as she prepared for bed. She downed a couple of glassed as she recalled her experiences in the brothel. They would serve her well. Her hands searched through the clothes Lord Baelish had sent with her. She didn’t know whose whore he had intended her to play, but the translucent shifts he’d given her would serve the purpose no matter whose wife she had become.

**x.X.x**

The marcherlord looked awkward as he entered their room. A piece of fabric had been tied around his eye and the pinpricks the mace had left on his head were covered by his hair. She didn’t even see the scar anymore.

‘Welcome, my lord.’

His eyes travelled to her as she sat upon the bed, hands stroking the soft sheets. They weren’t as soft as the ones in King’s Landing, but they were softer than the other ones she’d had on the road.

‘I haven’t slept in a bed for a long while’, he admitted. It sounded sad. She wondered if he could even remember it.

‘Well, I am afraid to inform you that I shall not sleep on the floor to accommodate your habits’, she decided with a smile before standing up to take his hand. It felt warm enough, and this heartened her.

‘Come and try for yourself, my lord. I believe myself to be familiar enough with beds to confidently give this one my seal of approval. It is quite soft, and does not appear to be plagued with fleas.’

He smiled at that, and allowed her to drag him to the bed.

‘I shall trust your judgement, my lady.’

‘Do you… Wish to…’ She didn’t know how to continue, and was struck with fear again.

‘I do not recall whether I’ve done this before.’

‘Perhaps… We could talk first?’ she offered. ‘So we are strangers no more.’

He agreed, and took off his boots before they laid down on the bed together, she sharing stories about what happened after Lord Stark’s death, and he sharing stories about his present life. After some time, she decided it was time to try and push them towards a union.

‘You know, I was quite attracted to you before’, she admitted with no little amount of blushing.

‘Were you?’ he asked in amazement.

She nodded, taking his hands. They were normal hands. She could see a faint scar running over his left, but they were warm and otherwise unmarred.

‘When I first saw you at the Tourney of the Hand, I believed myself to be quite in love with you already.’

‘I was betrothed back then.’

‘As you were hours ago, yet we married.’

He smiled sadly at that.

‘Your betrothal did not make you any less dashing. I heard many ladies whispering about you’, she continued. No man, not even one like him, could be anything but amused by such a notion, and Lord Beric appeared to be impressed that he once held such sway, as he recalled but little.

‘I sound like quite a heartbreaker.’

‘Oh you were,’ she admitted with a smile, ‘and you were quite cocky too. I once heard someone say that when a guard asked you whether you would participate in the tourney, you announced you had come to win it.’

‘Ah, as arrogant as I was handsome once’, he smirked.

She lifted his hands to her chest. Her heart was beating wildly. She shut down her thoughts when they started wondering about the state of his.

‘Oh quite. But you do not strike me as particularly arrogant now’, she complimented.

His eyes wandered to where his hands pressed against her breast. She could feel the air growing charged.

‘Perhaps one of the few, if not the only, upside to what I’ve been through. I’ve not bothered to look in a mirror lately,’ he confessed before pulling back his hands, ‘but I think I am still as handsome as I am arrogant. Am I not, my lady?’

‘Jeyne’, she breathed as she pushed herself up to her knees.

‘I know that Joffrey was as beautiful as he was arrogant, and he ordered to have all Northerners killed. I know Ser Loras is handsome but his courtesy is cold and his arrogance is great. Beauty is a great deal less important than character. And if the price of beauty is arrogance, I could live with a little less beauty. Even so, as you said yourself, you do not know what you look like. Perhaps I could tell you, Beric?’ she offered as she pulled him upright.

She would rather sleep with him while he had his clothes on. She didn’t want to see whatever his clothes hid from her after months of fighting and dying. Yet she knew she must disrobe him. And she must seduce him while undressing him, without looking horrified lest she ruin the mood.

 _You wanted to marry him, now you have him, you’ve even dreamt of this exact moment, s_ he told herself _, just pretend he is like you imagined him_.

At the sound of his name, he came alive and sat upright. He was as hungry for knowledge about his previous life as he was scared of it. She knew she had to tread carefully.

‘When I first saw you at the Tourney of the hand, your hair was red like fire, with strokes of orange where the sun had lightened it’, she explained as she let her finger slip through his hair to hold a strand in front of his face. ‘it’s still the exact same colour. It was just a bit muted because you hadn’t washed it in so long’, she smiled.

‘Your frame was quite slim, as it is now’, she explained as she undid the belt from which a dagger hung.

‘You’re just a bit slimmer since you’ve lost weight travelling without resting or eating properly. Just like Ser Thoros.’

She unbuttoned his jerkin and pushed it over his shoulders.

‘You didn’t have a beard yet, it’s new, but it suits you. It’s quite befitting of a rugged man saving fair maidens in the woods. Like Ser Robin in the tales of yore’, she encouraged while stroking his beard. She pushed forward and hesitantly brushed her lips against his.

He was unresponsive for a couple of seconds, before he mimicked the movement of her lips. It felt weird and mechanical, but she wouldn’t allow that to stop her.

She moved her hands to his hair, pulling him towards her before she slung a leg over his to straddle him.

‘You’ve got your injuries, but I doubt many men will come out of these wars unscathed.’ She pressed her lips against his throat, rocking her hips slowly.

‘Out on the roads, I dreamt that a courteous knight would come to my rescue.’

‘I doubt I’m much like the knights in those tales.’

‘Are you not? You saved me from an uncertain fate, and you are constantly putting your life on the line for the smallfolk. You rescue children orphaned by war. You are still chivalrous, and you will not even ask for an annulment if we do not accomplish what we set out to do. While everyone out there is fighting for some grand lord, you are defending those who cannot defend themselves, and punishing those who deserve to be punished. They should make a song or two about you’, she complimented him. She meant it too.

‘I’ll let you in on a secret. I dreamt you would come to my rescue.’

His smile faltered as her hands hesitated to lift his tunic.

‘I don’t know how much of a man I still am, Jeyne.’

‘And I don’t know how much of a lady I still am, Lord Baelish stole a large chunk of my innocence. The war stole our lives, but if we lose our hopes, dreams and ourselves, the war will have won. I won’t let the war take who I am on the inside, and I won’t let it steal my dreams, not when it has already taken so much’, she proclaimed full of conviction.

She took his face between her hands, taking in every detail of his face, and committing it to her memory, pushing away all perfect memories. This would have to be her dream. This was the Lord Beric she’d gotten. The old Lord Beric would never have been hers. Her dreams had been broken, she had been broken, it was only fair she allowed him to be a bit broken too.

‘Let us pretend, within the walls of this chamber, our dreams were granted to us, and we both got our happy ending. You can be a man with me, I will always see you as one. I don’t know your betrothed, and I know I am not much, but I promise I shall try and be a good wife to you.’

‘My lady Jeyne… Jeyne, you are not little. You are one of the most beautiful young ladies I have seen that I can remember. You are brave, honest, sweet and true. I know any man would be glad to have you.’

She did not have to pretend so much when she kissed him then. She pressed her body against his, and let her hands roam over his clothes.

She tried to mimic what she’d seen other women do to men, rocking their bodies against them and getting them roused by the touch of their hands.

Lord Beric finally stopped fighting, and put away his conflicted emotions regarding himself. He tried to answer her touches as well as she could, and she in turn responded to his actions as encouragingly as possible.

She didn’t know when it happened, only that by the time it did, she had grown near desperate, but she finally felt a twitch in his lap. She wasted no time pulling him down and under the covers with her.

She pulled at his final clothing pieces, and shoved her hand down to encourage what had started to grow.

 _Please,_ she begged, _please work._

She did not know, even if they managed to complete the act, if they could get pregnant. But she tried not to dwell on it. Instead, her imagination tried to envision a small child with blazing red hair and piercing blue eyes. She clung to it, and noted with satisfaction they were close to perhaps finding out if that was a viable dream.

She guided him on top of her then, and gave him an encouraging smile.

He was warm against her, his arms solid. She took all the comfort from it she could. She hadn’t been held in a long time. And no one had been kind to her in a long time either.

 _Just one child, that’s all I ask for, a son_. She prayed to the old gods that her wish was heard.

She tried to put all her feelings into her thrusts, all her wishes for children, her wishes for a loving marriage, her fiery wishes for him.

He’d been brought back to life by fire, and was then given to her, her burning desire answered.

She gasped for breath when she felt his hand travel south.

‘I… I remember’, he rasped. ‘Shouldn’t I?’

A lady shouldn’t answer, yet she did and begged him to continue. She’d never before found her own release, but now felt her belly burning, and she could even feel her own heartbeat _down there_.

A strangled moan escaped her lips before she could silence it. A wave of heat flowed through her, reaching every fingertip. She could feel her heartbeat throbbing everywhere now, as waves of pleasure wracked through her body.

The candles were dying one by one, and the light was burning low. The only thing she could see was the gleam of copper in his hair, the only thing she could hear the sound of his breathing, and the only thing she could feel was his body. There was no world outside, and for a while, her dream was real and tangible as she placed her hands on his back.

A sharp intake of breath awakened her, and her eyes zoomed in on his face before she felt it, the pulsing sensation between her legs.

It had happened. She’d tried to believe it would happen, but she was surprised all the same.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, keeping him inside of her.

‘See, we can be normal’, she whispered as unshed tears burned her eyes.

She could feel his lips against his cheek and felt some wetness there, the tears had already escaped.

‘I wish I would forever remember this.’

‘You can,’ she said passionately, ‘you lose memories when you die. You can still fight for the cause while practicing more care… And by staying away from men ten times your size and strength. Please, think of me. Think of me often, and return to me as much as you can, as long as you can.’

‘I’ll try’, he agreed.

**x.X.x**

They decided they would not wait to see whether their effort had paid off, and upon Jeyne waking up in the middle of the night and finding her husband awake, they started again, and once more in the morning.

He was slow to rise, as if his body had to remember it was in fact human and belonging to a man, but they managed to rouse his member three times, and successfully reached his climax twice before they left their chamber.

Thoros decided it was a goal well worth a few days, and so Lord Beric remained near the inn for two weeks, with him helping to rebuild houses for the smallfolk and Jeyne trying to teach the children to read and write during the day, and going to their chamber together at night. He was still awkward and stiff, though never anything but gallant. One day the red priest took her apart to enquire after her marriage, when she assured him she was perfectly satisfied, and hopeful, he confided in her that not too long ago, Beric Dondarrion had admitted to being resurrected so many times that he could not even remember his favourite food or the man who knighted him and being weary of it all. Jeyne had seen that weariness many times by then, as if he was still surprised to find himself alive each day, but she saw him smiling more often towards the end of their second week of marriage.

Perhaps he’d been so focussed on living for a goal, he’d forgotten to live for himself, Jeyne thought.

After two weeks, whatever fairy-tale Jeyne had been living in had ended, and goodbyes were in order. She didn’t allow herself to cry, but she presented him with a bouquet of forget-me-nots and an embroidered eye-patch with his coat of arms on it, ‘lest you forget’, she’d smiled. He’d given her a last kiss then, and departed. He made her no promises, and she did not get her hopes up on seeing him again. His lifestyle did not allow him to promise his own survival, and nobody knew how great the red magician’s fire magic was.

She kept herself useful and occupied, so useful she did not even notice the flurry in the courtyard when a couple of men of the brotherhood arrived until Young Jeyne called her. She quickly rushed downstairs with her to receive the news that her husband had bumped into a scrawny young kid and the hound. They would have taken them to a certain cave somewhere in the woods, but Lord Beric had decided to see his wife again, and wondered whether she could verify the identity of the kid. The men had travelled in advance to make sure there were no Lannister men currently residing in the inn before Lord Beric arrived with the Hound and the kid. Satisfied with the negative answer, they left again, and arrived not long after.

The man was the hound, undeniably, and she was shocked to see the “kid” Jack-Be-Lucky had been talking about. Her hair was short and shielded the round youthfulness of her face and the tell-tale grey eyes of House Stark, but one who grew up with her could easily see the girl was Arya Stark. She promptly forgot all the cruelness and hard feelings that had grown naturally between young girls with clashing characters having to live together, and cried out her name, running towards her and throwing her arms around her tiny figure.

She reeked and was so filthy she would need at least two baths before her skin became visible through the layers of caked dirt, but Jeyne’s joy could not and would not be reigned in. Arya, long believed missing, was alive and well.

‘Jeyne?’ Arya peeped, eyes warily taking in the older girl. She nodded with a smile.

‘That settles it then, your claims have been true Clegane’, Lord Beric decided as he dismounted his horse.

‘Told you’, the hound rasped. The look he threw her and Arya made her shiver, but she didn’t budge.

‘I take it you would both like a good meal’, Lord Beric offered.

‘Perhaps a bath first’, Jeyne supplied.

Both new guests sputtered, but begrudgingly agreed in the end.

She noticed Ser Thoros kept his eyes firmly fixed upon her that evening, and right as she was about to go to her rooms, he called for her.

‘Can you do your duty tonight?’ he asked gently.

Her cheeks burned red as she asked why she wouldn’t be able to.

‘Only that it would be natural for you to bleed perhaps, if you haven’t already.’

Jeyne froze and counted. And counted again. She’d had her flow a week before meeting the brotherhood without banners. She should have had them already. Should have had them weeks ago. She battled against the smile fighting its way to her face.

‘I still have to carry it to term, ser. Let us not celebrate. Many pregnancies are lost the first few moons. And I may yet lose my life before the nineth moon rises.’

‘Yet it is a good sign we even got this far, my lady. Perhaps you should tell your lord husband tonight.’

She did, and even though his face lost all symmetry as the wounded side tried to smile along with the good side, she could not but bring herself to feel joy at seeing him. A part of his face still made her fear, but she put those foolish fears aside. She made him swear to return to her, when he told her he would be going to the Twins.

‘No foolishness. No danger, no stupid sacrificing of your own life, understood? I rather want you to run than be slain. Your life is useful. If you run away you can help hundreds of others still, and be there for me.’

Months passed, and the fourth moon after her marriage, she could finally show him the signs of their successful union when he returned to the inn. Their reunion was not joyful though, as he brought the news of Lady Starks and King Robb’s deaths. They told her how they’d fished Lady Stark out of the river, and how Lord Beric had pleaded with Thoros to give her the kiss of life. But the man had refused, saying it had been too long. Beric had been mad with rage then, but gave the Lady the funeral the Tully’s had always given their own.

That had been the night she finally felt bold enough to lift his tunic, though she wished she hadn’t, because she could never have her ignorance back. Three deaths had been visible, although the second was always shielded by his hair and the bruises around his neck had been ignorable. But a lost eye was an average wound, and his thinness she could very well deal with, but the large ugly purple stitches where he’d been impaled by a lance and struck by a blade did look too awful to survive. It had been the starkest evidence that he should not have been alive.

She’d had nightmares that evening, wondering what effect his deaths and magical revivals would have and how it would affect their child.

‘I just… I always try to tell myself that all will be well, if I pray enough… but I can’t. I worry. I worry so much. I worry for you, for me, our child, my family, the world. I don’t know what powers there are in this world, all I know is that I do not underestimate the powers of the lord of light, but I fear. And I can’t help but fear. I dare not make plans, I dare not look at the future. But it’s so hard to live in an eternal present, when there’s a future within you’, she hiccupped as her hands cradled her belly.

‘I cannot promise you anything, nor shall I comfort you when I know all comforting words will be lies. But I promised to be there for you when the night is dark and full of terrors. I’ve seen those terrors, and I understand your fears. But let us pray, let us pray, that there is a merciful god out there’, he told her, cradling her belly with his own hands.

‘Please be safe. I want you to be safe.’

‘I want that too. I want to be in the future this little one is preparing for’, he admitted softly.

The lands became more quiet once the Starks were dead and Edmure Tully had been handed over to the Lannisters. The war seemed to move to the Crownlands. Although the Riverlands were still scorched and ruined, with bandits lurking everywhere, it was preferable to how it used to be. It also meant that her husband, who had died every two to three months before meeting her, had not died in the nine months he’d been with her.

But winter was coming, and a week after the first snow had fallen, she was placed on a boat.

‘I’ve never sailed before’, she admitted to her lord husband, who had been quietly watching her as she saw the shore growing smaller.

‘I can’t remember sailing either’, he admitted.

‘You’ll finally be home again.’

‘An image to attach to the name’, he nodded. ‘Blackhaven.’

‘You will like it, my lord’, Edric Dayne said.

‘It is a beautiful castle.’

‘As long as it proves to be a safe one’, he answered morosely.

Edric Dayne nodded.

‘You could keep it safe?’ Jeyne suggested softly, her gloved hand connecting with the cold one of her husband. He did not mind the cold. Did not even notice it.

‘You know I cannot. I have a duty. To the realm.’

‘No one else appears to have a duty to it’, Jeyne answered bitterly.

Life was not like a song, there were no real heroes, and justice did not win.

She had given up on her girlish fantasies, she now only wished to keep the few small dreams she had alive.

They were not much. She only wished to survive with Lord Beric, and deliver their child safely.

A dream of spring. A season in which all suffering and hardships became a thing of the past.

‘All the more reason for me to return. It is not that I do not care for you, my love. But we are but three, and they are many. It is selfish to only care for the three of us, if I can keep you two safe and take care of hundreds of others at the same time as well.’

He pressed a soft kiss on her cheek, and offered her as much love as he could during their trip.

Kisses, touches, she treasured them all. And wrote everything down in a diary she had started on the day the boat had left the harbour.

She wrote down everything he said and everything he did. All the ways he was damaged, and all the ways he was not. She tried sketching him, not that she was very good.

She knew that he risked dying. She knew the odds of him surviving were almost non-existent, they had been since before they married.

Wedged between the Red Mountains stood a castle with black basalt walls. Around the castle ran a moat. She could not see the bottom of it. It was a black abyss. But as bottomless as the moat appeared to be, so limited was the castle. There were two rows of protective walls, in which the staff of the castle lived, unperturbed by the war.

In the middle stood a small castle, nowhere near as grand or beautiful as the castle of King’s Landing. It also didn’t feel as ancient or look as architecturally stunning as Winterfell. But it was cosy, its rooms warm, even despite the winter cold. The castle had been built to keep all elements out, not only the heat, and all rooms had great hearths.

It felt like a home, she reasoned.

When Beric first entered the room that had once been his, Jeyne had wept in his stead. The sheets were unchanged, only covered up by a white blanket to ward off the dust. On the desk in his solar lay the letters he had left behind, having intended only to stay for the Tourney of the Hand all those years ago.

His clothes were large on him now, but the fresh set of clothes his size and befitting of his station were more than welcome. And the sheets, where they had lain on top of eachother, still held the perfume he’d last worn years ago, he’d recognized it, despite not even knowing he had once worn it.

In the room where he had once dined with his parents hung a portrait of him, and on another a mirror, the starkest reminder of who he had once been, and who he was now.

He had not been born amongst the ashes of the battlefield, he had been borne there, amidst solid stone, and had been raised by good parents.

It did not feel like a home to him, but it did to her. He was reminded of what he had forgotten, she saw what the castle had once been and could be again; a home to a noble family.

On the fifth day, once he had ensured all residents and the surrounding folk he lived, was married and had only received some scars, he left.

Life was like a song, Jeyne reasoned.

The fair maiden was rescued.

Evil lost.

The good side won.

And heroes died bravely while defending those who couldn’t protect themselves.

That’s where the stories ended.

Right after the good part.

Jeyne had the good part. Then came the rest of her life.

Twins with bright red hair.

No coffin to burry her husband, all the dead had been buried.

And the Spring she had wished for, in which her children could grow up safe.


End file.
